


oh won't you stay with me, 'cause you're all i need

by gerardweyhey



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Almost Suicide Attempt, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian, Fluff, Gallavich, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, So much angst, Suicide, mickey's depressed, they hold hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardweyhey/pseuds/gerardweyhey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mickey's finding it harder and harder to always be there to support ian and almost breaks at one point before he remembers exactly why he's even taking care of ian in the first place</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh won't you stay with me, 'cause you're all i need

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiii so lately my fanfics have either been stupid, shit or i've been attacked with writer's block and its really fucking annoying bc everything i do seems to suck ass and it's kinda gotten me down but anyways this is literally written around the concept of the cigarette mickey's holding in the beginning so like that's a thing that happened
> 
> anyways as always i do have a tumblr http://autumninginreverse.tumblr.com where you can read this and other stories of mine as well as follow me to keep updated on stories and updates i may have with them, as well as writing tips and playlists that compliment the stories well. 
> 
> please comment and leave kudos on the story if you enjoyed because that would make me really happy and thank you for taking the time to read this and enjoy!!

The bitter December wind continued to bite aggressively at Mickey's scarlet cheeks as it had been doing for the past hour. The crumbling cigarette held loosely between numb fingers was the only source of warmth he had felt throughout his walk. The glow of streetlamps half-heartedly illuminated random people walking cautiously among the streets of south side Chicago. Mickey pondered the reasons they would possibly be walking late at night when it was this motherfuckin' cold. Could be coming home from work, homeless, or maybe they just needed to escape a bad situation, like him. He took a long drag from his diminishing cigarette, relieving himself with the filling of smoke in his lungs. His heart hurt; it felt like it had a dumbbell hanging stubbornly off of it and nothing seemed to be able to fix it. Ian being depressed and hurting had seemed to rub off on him, because lately he had trouble feeling like anything besides a skeleton walking through the world awaiting his death. Ian had been his happiness; because even with their shitty lives individually, what they had going together was pretty good. Mickey felt safe and loved and happy, and how was he expected to feel happy when Ian wasn't? Mickey didn't have much else to make him smile in his life besides him. He'd become a piece of Mickey, as much as he hated to admit it, and he knew there was something different between them. Fuck, he loved Ian, and Ian knew that. Everyone seemed to be aware of it these days. 

This is why Mickey never depends on people.

It fucks him up. He promised to himself, after his mom died, he'd never love anyone again, because everyone in this neighbourhood will either die young or fuck off, and he couldn't do it again. His mom had been the only one to ever give half a shit about Mickey; she'd never stop Terry from beating the shit out of him or his siblings, but she was the only person who'd ever actually told Mickey she loved him, and acted like she actually wanted him around. She had ended up the best she could've for being raised in the south side. She was gentle, kind, loving, and Mickey still wondered to this day how she ever settled for his fuck-up of a father. He took a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it in the water, blowing smoke through his nose as he looked over the bridge. He bit his lip, watching the rush of water below him as silence filled the thick, frigid air. 

He should be home; lying next to Ian, tracing shapes on his pale, freckled skin, watching him, protecting him. Protecting him from himself, protecting him from the cruelty of the shitty world he was forced to live in. But here Mickey was, standing on a fucking bridge nowhere close to home, being selfish and pitying himself. 

Maybe he should just jump.

He shook the persistent thought from his mind. Mickey had never been the one to give up, to submit to whatever was hurting him. He always had to be his own hero, to calm himself down, to tend to his own wounds. The only person who'd ever constantly been there for Mickey was himself; he was the only one who would save him, and he couldn't let himself give up now. Still, even though his mind disagreed, his body began pulling him into sitting on the railing of the bridge, feet dangling above the freezing cold water. He didn't want to jump, he doubted that he would anyways. He wasn't completely sure why he was even sitting here. The adrenaline of a near-death experience to make him appreciate his life? He couldn't pinpoint his reasoning, but it felt right to be sitting on the verge of death, whether he understood why or not. He gripped the cold steel solidly, assuring himself he wouldn't fall. If Mickey were to let go, his entire life would be over. He would have to leave Ian to deal with the world on his own, and Mickey didn't have the heart to be so selfish as to isolate Ian from the only sense of security he'd ever really known. Mickey looked back down to the water, before swinging a leg over the bridge back to safety. Half of him was safe, while the other half dangled uncertainly in the air. He jumped to the snow veiled sidewalk, rubbing his eyes and reaching for a second cigarette. He fumbled with the lighter he'd stolen from Ian earlier, before flicking a flame out to incinerate the tip of the cigarette. Mickey stared at his feet, unsure of what had just occured. The soft crunch of snow packing beneath rushed feet broke the calm serenity of the dark, and Mickey looked up to see an exhausted looking Ian. Mickey caught his lip between his teeth, uncertain as to what Ian was about to say.  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian's monotone voice snapped dully.  
“What are you doing here?” Mickey asked defensively, sheepish tones underlying in his voice.  
“Looking for your ass, what are you doing here?” Ian shot back. It took everything in Mickey not to fight with Ian at this moment; he knew he didn't actually mean it like that, that it was just the mood swings, and God, how Mickey wished he could explain how hard it was to constantly hear this from him.  
“I-I don't know, can we just go home? How'd you even make it this far?” Mickey inquired.  
“I had to find you.” Ian stated. “I needed you."  
“For what?”  
“To be there. And you weren't.” Ian's voice had become accusing and guarded.  
“Oh, give me a fucking break. Half the time you can't stand to look at me, and the one time I take a breather from all of it, you need me?” Mickey snapped in frustration. Ian stared back with a look of hurt at his outburst, and Mickey knew he'd fucked up. “Look," he said, running a hand through his dark hair, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I know you need me, but don't act like I'm never around, 'cause it makes me feel even more like shit.”  
“You think you feel like shit?” Ian laughed in disbelief. "You have any idea how hard it was for me to drag myself out of bed to come find you?"  
“I know, but don't you think this isn't hard for me? Watching you upset all the time, not being able to do anything about it? I feel helpless, like I have no control over it and it fuckin', it kills me, Ian.” Ian paused, considering what Mickey had just said, passing it over and over in his mind.  
“What were you doing on the railing?” Ian questioned softly.  
“Don't worry 'bout it. You wanna go home now?” He received a slight nod from Ian, and the two set off, shadows trailing, ghosting behind them. They walked silently, not a word exchanged between either. The two were lost in their own thoughts. Mickey kept replaying sitting on the bridge, contemplating how bad shit would've gotten if he had jumped. He bit his lip nervously, and cautiously held out his hand for Ian to grab, needing to feel some form of connection to him. It probably wasn't the safest thing he could've done in their neighbourhood, but fuck it, he didn't care about that right now. He cared about Ian, and he smiled meekly when long, warm fingers interlocked with his idle hand. 

 

Mickey grabbed Ian's coat from him to hang up, hands gesturing for the boy to go to bed almost instantly after they had arrived back at the Gallagher house. Ian did so without a fight, and Mickey was quick to follow, the pair stripping to their boxers before retreating under their blanket. Ian's back was turned to Mickey as he curled away, as happy as he could be to be back home and able to mope peacefully. Mickey's fingers traced along Ian's spine, attempting to coax Ian to sleep. Ian shifted to face Mickey, his heavy lids attempting to stay open so he could maintain eye contact with Ian.

“Thank you.” Ian whispered.  
“For what?”  
“For staying, and for actually giving a shit. Fiona's too busy with the other kids to come check on me once in a while, and you were the one that ever even noticed something was wrong with me. You deal with me picking fights, and acting like an asshole, and you don't fight back, and I just don't know how I ever got so lucky.” Ian confessed, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment. Mickey laughed softly, shaking his head and snuggling closer to Ian. “I love you, Mick.” Ian breathed faintly.  
“I love you too, Ian. Regardless of whatever happens, I'll always love you too.”


End file.
